


A Perfectly Normal Trip North.

by CupCakezys



Series: Kissing Prompts from Tumblr [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angry Kissing, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23409934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupCakezys/pseuds/CupCakezys
Summary: Jaskier was travelling north when he heard whispers of the White Wolf battling a horrible monster for a tiny village.Curious, and maybe a little worried, he went to see what his old friend was up to.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Kissing Prompts from Tumblr [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661623
Comments: 4
Kudos: 155





	A Perfectly Normal Trip North.

Jaskier wasn’t sure what beast it was Geralt had been sent to face this time. He’d been passing through a random, tiny village on his way north when he heard someone whisper about the White Wolf. He’d immediately stopped and turned, interest peaked. He hadn’t seen Geralt for some months now, and he would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t curious as to what his old friend had been up to.

He hadn’t been surprised when the villagers had told him Geralt had agreed to help them get rid of a monster that had been attacking them.

He’d been getting details, trying to figure out where Geralt had gone, when an old man had interrupted them.

“It doesn’t matter where he went bard.” He had said. “He’s dead, same as all the others that have gone after the beast.”

Jaskier had scoffed. They didn’t know his Geralt. He was a witcher, after all, and defeating monsters was kind of his whole thing. He was fine.

Then the old man had chuckled. “He’s been ripped to pieces bard, just like the last three witchers we sent after it.”

Jaskier had tensed, the edge of worry biting at his heart. He hadn’t known they’d hired other witchers before. That those witchers had failed.

“You’re just going to get yourself killed alongside him bard.” The old man warned, even as he pointed Jaskier in the right direction.

Jaskier had ignored him. He didn’t know Geralt. He was stronger than anyone Jaskier had ever met, and he couldn’t imagine anything taking him down.

Not that that had stopped him from rushing to the last place the villagers had seen Geralt.

Now Jaskier was wondering around the forest, half out of his mind with worry and trying to pretend he wasn’t. Geralt wasn’t supposed to be far – the beast lived in a cave close to the village, and it only left on the nights it chose to attack. Jaskier found it easily – and with it he found both the monster and Geralt lying, unmoving, in the clearing just outside the caves entrance.

“Oh shit.” Jaskier breathed. “Oh fuck.”

He ran towards Geralt, not sparing the monster a second glance. Geralt’s silver sword was thrust deep into its neck – it was dead. His eyes were on Geralt and Geralt only. The witcher was lying on his front, faced away from Jaskier, and Jaskier _couldn’t see him breathing._

He was by Geralt’s side in an instant, not even sure how he got there, shoving the man in an attempt to roll him over. When he finally managed to get him on his back he couldn’t hold back a gasp. Geralt was breathing, but just barely, and three ragged claw marks ran from his right shoulder all the way down to the opposite hip. It was bleeding sluggishly, and judging by the pile growing on the forest floor, it had been for a while.

“Shit.” Jaskier said again, shaking Geralt slightly. “Geralt. Geralt! Come on, wake up!”

The witcher didn’t move, didn’t even groan, and Jaskier fought to swallow back his fear.

His eyes widened.

_Swallow._

“Okay.” He jerked upright, reluctant to leave Geralt but knowing he had to. “Don’t you dare die on me Geralt.”

He turned and ran, desperately peering through the trees as he went. He knew it wouldn’t be far – Geralt never set up camp far from where he battled his contracts.

“Roach!” He yelled when he finally caught sight of the camp. “Roach where are you?”

He heard the horse shuffling about at the edge of the camp, happily munching on some grass, and could have cried. He ran to her, ignoring her greeting nudges in favour of rummaging in her saddle bag. It took him a minute – too long, _far_ too long – to find it, and when he did he ran immediately back to Geralt’s side.

“Geralt!” He yelled, getting no answer, though he didn’t expect one.

Geralt was lying exactly where he had been before, still hardly breathing and bleeding out. Jaskier fell to his knees beside him. His hands shook as he wrestled with the bottle’s cap, and for a heart stopping moment he feared he would spill the sallow all over the forest floor. He grit his teeth and managed to pull himself together enough to pour the healing potion down Geralt’s throat.

Jaskier sat back on his heels, watching Geralt’s chest intently.

“Come on.” He muttered, again and again, waiting for something, _anything_ to change.

When Geralt’s breathing eased into something less like a whisper, and Jaskier could see the blood slowly stop weeping from his wounds, he knew he had to act. He pushed himself back to his feet, determined to find Roach and get Geralt back to the village so the stupid man could heal somewhere that wasn’t the forest floor. It was the least he could do, after everything Geralt had done for him.

* * *

The inn owner allowed them to stay free of charge, providing them with everything they needed for Geralt to heal. They said it was payment for what he had done for them, and Jaskier agreed, though to him they owed Geralt much more. He’d saved the lives of everyone in the village and almost lost his own in the process – providing him with a place to heal was the very least they could do.

They should be singing Geralt’s praises and lining up to give him gifts of gratitude, in Jaskier’s humble opinion, but no one ever asked him. Not that it really mattered. Jaskier sung Geralt’s praises any chance he got, and Geralt didn’t much care for gifts. Not unless they were for Roach, the selfless bastard.

“Jaskier.” Geralt ground out, in the very early hours of their second day in the inn, startling Jaskier out of the doze he had fallen into. “Where’s Roach?”

Selfless bastard. Of course the first thing out of his mouth after almost dying and spending days unconscious would be concern for his horse.

“She’s in the stables, probably being treated better than we are. The children love her.” Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest. “Not going to ask why I’m here? Or how you got into this nice, lovely bed instead of dying out on the hard forest floor?”

Geralt groaned and rolled away from him to face the wall. “Hmm.”

“I’ll tell you.” Jaskier said. “I was wandering my way north, spreading my songs to those unfortunate few that have yet to hear me, when I heard rumours of a witcher passing through the nearby town. And lo and behold, when I get here, I’m told the White Wolf has gone to face a monster that had killed anyone else that tried to kill it.”

“It was just a contract.” Geralt said gruffly.

Jaskier spluttered, disbelieving. “Just a- three witchers died trying to kill that thing! _You_ almost died!”

Geralt didn’t seem to care. Which, knowing Geralt, he _didn’t_ care about himself, but knowing that didn’t make Jaskier any less angry at the man. _He_ cared about him, damn it. And while he didn’t normally have to worry, knowing Geralt had faced a monster that had bested other witchers was enough to set him just a tiny bit on edge.

And maybe just a little out of his mind with worry.

“Damn it Geralt!” He said, standing up and glaring down at the man.

“What?” Geralt grunted, forcing himself upright.

“What is wrong with you?” He yelled. “You almost died- you would have died if I hadn’t found you! And you don’t even care!”

Geralt stared at him, calm, and it made Jaskier’s blood boil. “I’m a witcher Jaskier. Fighting is what I do. Dying is always a possibility.”

Jaskier grit his teeth. “I know that! But you could still care for yourself, at least a little!”

Geralt said nothing, and Jaskier felt his temper snap. He launched forward and grabbed Geralt’s tunic, though he was still mindful of his injuries. He intended to drag him forward and yell at his stupid, pretty face until he actually started to care about himself at least a little bit.

He managed the first half. He pulled Geralt forward, until they were nose to nose, but then Jaskier got distracted by the gold of Geralt’s eyes, and then the white of his hair, messy and loose without it’s tie, and then his lips, as kissable as they’d been the very first time they’d met, and suddenly that was all Jaskier could think about.

And then he was kissing Geralt.

It wasn’t the type of kiss Jaskier normally gave, filled with passion and desire. There was some of that, certainly. But it was almost entirely lost underneath the anger Jaskier could still feel bubbling in his gut, the anger borne from worry and fear and maybe, possibly, a little bit of love.

Geralt was frozen underneath him for a moment before he started kissing him back fiercely, with none of the anger and all of the passion Jaskier had imagined they would share when they finally kissed. It made him angrier, impossibly, and he pulled away with a growl.

“Stop almost dying.” He said, no, commanded, no room for argument.

Geralt swallowed, sighed, and shook his head. “I can’t.”

And Jaskier felt like crying, because he knew. He knew Geralt could never turn his back on someone that needed him, no matter how dangerous it may be. It wasn’t who he was.

And so their second kiss was only a little less angry, but by their seventh Jaskier thought maybe he could forgive his selfless, idiotic witcher.


End file.
